


Stay On the Moon

by idoltina



Series: Stir Up The Beast Inside [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Assault, Canonical Character Death, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, Nudity, Other, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 00:39:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2328869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set just prior to 05.03 The Quarterback. The pack’s lament.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay On the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** allusions to violence, canonical character death, depictions of grief, mild dominant/submissive dynamics, nudity, situational unintentional attempted aggravated assault

Tucked away in the front of rows upon rows of chairs, Kurt is the last one left after Finn’s funeral. His suit feels foreign against his skin, the early May air warm and stifling in the quiet of the cemetery. His bones feel heavy with weight, drawn to the fresh earth in front of his feet, and not for the first time in the last several days, Kurt almost forgets how to breathe. Because buried in the ground now isn’t just someone he knew or someone he loved. Beneath the soil is his friend, the one person who’d carried Kurt’s burden for far longer than he should have, his beta, his right hand, his _brother_. In the wake of Finn’s death, the wolf inside of Kurt feels injured and weak, crippled and without direction.

He feels as though he’s lost a limb.

And yet.

Kurt’s grief is not enough to outweigh the wolf’s confusion and anger, and for the first time in a long time, Kurt feels control over the wolf slipping out of his grasp. There’s no sense to this, none at all. The human in him is too numb to ask “why,” but the wolf is not, and with every waking moment, Kurt feels the wolf rise up in his chest and scratch and claw and whine and snarl and beg to be released. He can feel it fighting against the weight of his bones and his grief, desperate. His hands shake with the effort not to shift, but his resolve grows weaker and weaker with each hour because somehow, letting the beast out of its cage will somehow make this better, it won’t have _happened_ and --

At Blaine’s touch, Kurt’s hands go still.

“Breathe,” Blaine says. Every breath _aches_ , but the wolf is quelled by its mate’s touch. Kurt turns to look at him, breath coming a little easier when Blaine cups his cheek with his free hand. “Your eyes are red,” Blaine observes, and Kurt _knows_ what he means but recognizes that it’s not a warning.

Kurt has to let the wolf grieve.

Resigned, Kurt removes Blaine’s hand from his face but holds it with his own, anchored by Blaine’s touch. “When, uh, when do your parents get back tomorrow?”

“Not before five,” Blaine supplies. “Why? Did you want to come over? I mean, you can -- of course you can. I just thought you’d go back to your parents’ house tonight.”

“I will,” Kurt affirms. “It’s just, um, the -- the funeral was sort of all-encompassing, you know? And I’m sure Mr. Schue will ask us to come back in a few weeks to do some sort of special tribute for glee club. And pack has always been more than just the wolves -- it’s the family I make. I just…”

“Want to do something just for the wolves who are here?” Blaine figures. 

Kurt nods. “I just, uh, I need a den, for lack of a better term,” he explains, surprised by the slight urge to laugh.

“My place,” Blaine guesses. “I get why it should be me -- alpha’s mate -- but what do you need it for?”

Dirt below his feet, Kurt swallows hard and tightens his grip on Blaine’s hands, trying to keep his composure. “We’ll probably get dirty,” he says. “I want to give them a space safe to clean up and sleep, after we’ve shifted back. I promise to have them out of your hair by noon tomorrow.”

Under the weight of his own sorrow, Blaine’s mouth twitches into faintest of smiles. “I can do that,” he promises. “I’m happy to help, honestly. It’ll give me something constructive to focus on.” Blaine leans in and presses a brief kiss to Kurt’s forehead. “Do you want me to contact them for you?”

Kurt shakes his head. “No,” he says, finally pushing himself to his feet. He turns to look out at the rows upon rows of chairs assembled; they are empty, each one. “I should be the one to make the call.”

* * * * *

As the moon wanes and shadows light along the ground of the graveyard, Kurt sits and waits for his pack to come.

In the dark, the shadows are red.

He lurks in the shadows until well after midnight, waiting until the last night guard has left before he emerges. The chairs around the freshly dug earth are gone, now, but without fail and one by one, the empty spaces are tracked by paws and pairs of yellow. It’s Marley who pads across the ground first, her red eyes reflecting Kurt’s own. Following her impressions is Jake, the first of the golden eyes blinking light into the night. On his heels is his brother, large and overgrown and somehow shaggier than Kurt remembers Puck being as a wolf. It’s been so _long_ since Kurt has seen the members of his pack shift, since he himself has fully shifted. The opportunities are far and few between in the busy cities in New York compared to even the sparse countryside found near Lima. Under the light of a waning moon, Kurt’s bones feel even more tired than before now that he’s finally shifted again, but the change has also brought an ease and relief to his muscles and tendons.

His hands no longer shake.

His hands are no longer hands at all.

Marley comes to sit at Kurt’s left with ease, the picture of sophisticated grace. She nods almost imperceptibly, and Kurt recognizes it as deference to his leadership tonight. Her pack is much smaller than his own has ever been -- wolves, vampires, or humans included. But tonight it does not matter; tonight, they are one, and they gather to mourn the loss of one of their own. Jake settles down next to her, head resting against Marley’s side. Puck moves next to them but places himself in front of Kurt and does not sit down. Of them all, Puck’s thoughts are the loudest, muddled and angry and confused, and Kurt has to dig his nails into the dirt in an effort not to lash out at him.

In a way, Kurt thinks they understand each other -- in Puck’s mind, they have both lost a brother.

The light shifts and changes along the ground as Mike ambles gracefully toward them, weaving his way around the columns and rows of headstones. When Mike grows near enough, he brushes gently against Kurt’s side before taking a seat to Kurt’s right. Even though Mike’s grief is palpable in the air around them, his presence makes Kurt feel _stronger_ \-- or at least, the wolf feels stronger in body, if not in heart. _This_ Kurt has missed, the feeling he gets when he’s close to his pack again, when he gets to run with wolves. He spent so _long_ fighting against what he’d been born as that when he’d finally grown comfortable in his own skin -- whichever form it takes -- he’d clung to the little time he’d had left with his betas. He’s lacked this since he moved to New York last fall, even with his occasional visits back here and Santana’s move to the city.

As if on cue, Santana trots into view. Her mind is surprisingly quiet, but Kurt thinks she may be doing it on purpose. She approaches their nearly formed half-circle but does not join it, choosing instead to pace in circles around them. It makes Kurt feel uneasy, but again, he chooses not to reprimand. Continual movement is probably the only thing keeping Santana’s mind as quiet as it is; without it, Kurt thinks she’d feel like he had this afternoon -- shaking and on the verge of shifting. There’s fur on her skin, now, and with her yellow eyes watchful as she circles them, Kurt is reminded of one thing.

He is not alone.

Quinn is the last of the wolves to arrive, the last of the wolves who’d made it back to Lima for the funeral. Kurt isn’t sure whether or not he’s surprised to see her. He’s seen so little of her since graduation, mostly recently over Valentine’s Day when he’d been a little… preoccupied. But he remembers the last time he’d seen her before that, when she’d answered his call and come to New York to talk some sense into Rachel, and he finds he’s not so surprised after all. Like Santana, Quinn always seems to show up at the right time, and her mind, too, is quiet. She settles down next to Puck but doesn’t look at him, and with striking familiarity, Santana seems to follow Quinn’s lead and sit down at her other side.

With a deep breath, Kurt turns around and faces the grave in front of him.

_Finn_ , he thinks, whining aloud, and that’s all it takes for the voices of the rest of them to fill his head, lamenting. Everything is muddled and overlapping, and it’s difficult to discern what each of them is thinking in kind. Again, he whines, snuffing in frustration as he tries to let them grieve, but it’s _too much_. He keeps getting snippets of their thoughts -- _can’t follow_ and _not supposed to be the first_ and _you didn’t give up on me then_ and _I hate this I hate this I hate this I hate this_. And again, Kurt finds himself struggling to breathe through it, their grief a burden he’s not sure he can bear. But he doesn’t have the same options as he did before; he can’t shift, he doesn’t have his mate to calm him, he doesn’t -- he can’t -- he has to --

Forcing breath into his lungs, Kurt lifts his head to the sky and _howls_.

The voices in his head fall silent.

Above him, the moon wanes.

He’s lost too much.

Suddenly _exhausted_ from shifting outside of a full moon, Kurt bows his head and whines again, legs shaking with the effort of standing. Slowly, he crumbles until he’s lying down on the ground, chin nuzzled into the dirt. Finn is so close, just beneath his feet, but Kurt knows that digging will get him nowhere.

Finn isn’t coming back.

Again, he whines.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, curled up on the ground. His consciousness is marked by the actions of his pack around him. Their voices are muted around the edges, now, barely discernable in his melancholy. Santana rises up on all fours and starts to pace in circles again, her movement seeming to spark a fire under the rest of them. Mike is next to his feet, though not for long; he pads quietly in Kurt’s direction and licks a stripe along Kurt’s ear before curling in close. Quinn moves past them toward the headstone and presses her head against it, her whine quiet and low.

Marley leads them all in an echoed chorus of Kurt’s howl, and Kurt pushes himself to his feet.

With all of the energy he has left and Puck on his heels, Kurt breaks out into a gallop.

Together, they run.

* * * * *

In the laundry room, there are two large stacks of towels atop the washing machine and seven overnight bags tucked away in the corner.

In the backyard just outside the door, Blaine waits.

The moon isn’t casting as much light onto the ground as he’d hoped it would tonight. He worries that it’s not enough, that it’ll somehow inhibit the wolves from finding their way to this makeshift den. It’s a silly thought, he knows, because they’re supernatural creatures who are more familiar with the woods than he is and are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. And even barring all of that, Blaine knows that Kurt will always be able to find his way home to him. It’s just -- it’s not as though they’ve lost their alpha. It just _feels_ like they have. Blaine knows that Finn acted as a surrogate alpha for a very long time, and even with Kurt and Marley there to lead them, Blaine gets the distinct impression that the wolves feel a little… lost. He knows that he can’t fix this, but he also knows that it’s his role tonight to give them a safe place to land.

In the dark, he is a beacon.

Even burning bright in the warmth of May, Blaine feels cold all the way down to his bones.

Shivering, he wraps the throw blanket around himself more snugly. He feels safe, here, but it’s cold and quiet and dark, long past midnight. He finished nursing a mug of lavender earl gray not too long ago, but the effects of the caffeine are just starting to fade, fatigue threatening to settle in. But he can’t sleep, not until the wolves arrive, not until he sees the red of Kurt’s eyes and feels the familiar burn and ache on his hip.

The rustling of leaves catches his attention and causes him to sit up a little straighter. He can hear it, growing louder and muddled and busy. Hesitant but curious, Blaine pushes himself to his feet and descends the rest of the steps from the back deck out into the yard. He doesn’t call out, not yet, but he does inch his way closer to the fence along the edge of the yard, just beyond the first set of trees. The rustling grows louder as he slows to a stop, his hand hovering over the lock fastened upon the back of the gate. There’s definitely something on the other side of the fence, that much he can be sure of, and even though Blaine lives in a relatively safe neighborhood, he’s still hesitant to open the gate until he’s sure. “Hello?” he calls out quietly.

More rustling accompanied by snapping and groaning, but the voice that follows takes him by surprise. “It’s us,” Quinn whisper-calls back. “Let us in.”

Pleased that one of them had the foresight to shift back in order to let him know they’d arrived, Blaine reaches for the handle of the lock and unbolts it. He stops just shy of pulling the gate open, though, when he realizes that Quinn is probably naked on the other side of it. Temporarily flustered, Blaine unfurls the blanket from around him and pulls the gate open just enough to pass it through. “Here,” he offers, waiting until he feels her take it from him to open the gate the rest of the way. She slips into the yard quickly, blanket wrapped around her but her feet bare. There’s a smudge of dirt across her forehead and her hair is tangled and askew. She looks positively _wild_ , and as the rest of the wolves amble into the yard after her, Blaine understands why Kurt had wanted to offer them a place to clean up.

Kurt is the last to emerge from the woods, dirt heavy on his paws and the fur along his belly. Blaine closes and locks the gate after him and moves back toward the deck, perching himself up on one of the steps. It’s a bit strange to have all of the wolves (and Quinn) looking to him for instruction, the pairs of yellow and red burning into his skin. It’s the first time in a long time that Blaine has felt anything like the leader he’s so often been thought of or has aspired to be. It feels particularly strange in light of the fact that there are two alphas deferring to him, seeking his assistance. But this is his role, this is who he’s supposed to be, this is what he’s supposed to do. And the only way he can help them is to open the door behind him.

“Your bags are in the laundry room behind me,” he begins, careful to keep his voice quiet so he doesn’t wake any of the neighbors. “There are towels on top of the washing machine. You can use the bathroom on the second floor -- second door on the right. I made up a few places to sleep in the living room. I’ll just, uh -- I’ll just wait down here until everyone’s had a chance to get clean. Just, um, let me know when you’re done, I guess, so I can send the next person upstairs.” He hesitates, here, unsure of what to else to say.

Quinn moves past him without another word, and in her absence, the pack seems to start to lose the last of the energy it has left. Jake curls up on the ground to wait, snuffing quietly until Marley lowers herself down next to him. It’s weirdly passive-aggressive for Jake, particularly like this, but Blaine keeps his mouth shut. For all he knows, they could be conversing telepathically amongst themselves. It’s not his place to interfere, particularly not in someone else’s relationship or with another alpha. Puck is the first to climb the stairs, and he chooses to sit just outside of the door, a silent but effective dibs. Kurt moves up the steps just enough to be close to Blaine, and Blaine sinks down next to him with ease. Kurt nuzzles in close, warm and inviting against Blaine’s body, and Blaine runs his fingers absently over the soft fur on Kurt’s head. Mike flops down at the foot of the stairs, all paws, but Santana refuses to stay still, pacing in circles around the yard.

Quinn doesn’t take as long as Blaine thought she would have, her reappearance downstairs sudden and surprising. She opens the door to Puck, expression guarded, but before Puck can even get to his feet, Santana brushes by him quickly into the house, trailing dirt behind her. Blaine suppresses a sigh and hopes that she doesn’t track dirt all the way up and down the stairs, but he realizes that might be a lost cause. He casts an apologetic glance in Puck’s direction, but Puck only has eyes for Quinn, who closes the door on him and retreats back into the house.

One by one, the wolves seek refuge in the makeshift den -- Puck next, then Mike, then Jake. Marley looks to Kurt when Jake opens the door for her, her eyes curious and questioning. Kurt barely moves at all, but he must have given his permission for Marley to go inside first, because she’s on her feet and up the stairs without a second glance. It’s… strange, almost, to see Marley defer to Kurt’s leadership. In the last month, Blaine has watched Marley really start to come into her own as an alpha -- as a _leader_. He’s watched her try to protect her pack -- wolves or not -- and try to step up and take control. It’s been wonderful, watching her confidence grow, but Blaine also knows that leaders thrust into the position tend to struggle in the beginning. This isn’t struggle, exactly, but Blaine thinks this would be a lot harder for her if Kurt weren’t here. Giving Kurt the reins allows Marley to heal without worrying too much about everyone else’s well-being.

After Marley goes inside, it’s just Kurt and Blaine out on the back deck, and it’s the first time since the wolves’ arrival tonight that Blaine hears Kurt whine.

Blaine doesn’t know how to help him.

Heart barely beating, Blaine swallows around the lump in his throat and starts to sing. His struggles to breathe through _losing every breath_ , his voice wavering on _make my heart bleed out my chest_. Kurt presses in close after that, his breath heavy and damp against the skin of Blaine’s neck. And for one wild moment, Blaine remembers the night he’d found out about the wolves, remembers how close Kurt had pressed up against him, remembers the whispered words -- _god, your heart is racing_. He remembers being so _lost_ to Kurt, even then, but together, they are home, now.

Finn had climbed in through the window that night.

Tonight, he’s buried beneath the ground, and against Blaine’s skin, Kurt lets out the quietest of howls.

All Blaine wants to do is sink to his knees.

“All yours,” Marley murmurs through the screen, and Blaine knows without looking that she doesn’t linger.

Voice lost and heart heavy, Blaine starts to pull away, ready to rise to his feet to accompany Kurt into the house. Kurt pulls back just enough to look at him, the weight of sorrow in his eyes heavier than Blaine’s ever seen it. “Come on,” Blaine urges gently, extracting himself away from the larger body of Kurt’s wolf. “Let’s go inside so you can shift and shower.” He pushes himself to his feet and turns to climb the stairs, hesitating when he pulls open the door. He can feel Kurt’s eyes on him, and all it takes is Blaine turning around to confirm that Kurt hasn’t moved at all. “Kurt?” Kurt whines, low and in the back of his throat, and takes a step back. Blaine narrows his eyes in confusion, fingers gripping the door handle hard. “What’s wrong?”

A step forward and Kurt stops, looking over his shoulder up at the sky.

The moon is waning.

And Blaine remembers, then, how terribly Kurt’s hands had shaken less than twelve hours ago, how red his eyes had burned.

Kurt has nothing left.

“You don’t want to shift back,” Blaine says, half-guessing. Another whine, another step forward, and Blaine thinks he understands. “You can’t.” One last step forward and Kurt presses his head against Blaine’s knees, eyes downcast. Blaine exhales patiently and adjusts his grip on the handle, eyes surveying the state of Kurt’s fur. He’s still half-dirty, and regardless of whether or not he shifts tonight, Blaine knows that staying that dirty overnight will drive Kurt crazy, even underneath all of the melancholy. Kurt remaining a wolf for the rest of the night presents some logistical problems to trying to find a solution, but Blaine knows that Kurt probably isn’t not shifting by choice. He looks like he doesn’t have the energy, not tonight, and it’s Blaine’s job to figure out how to handle this. He glances once around the yard and bites his lip, contemplating. “You’re covered in dirt,” Blaine points out, not unkindly. “If you’re not going to shift tonight, I think the best I can do for you is to use the garden hose. I realize that’s kind of degrading, but --”

He tapers off once he realizes that Kurt’s gone to retrieve it, tugging the hose along by the metal end with his mouth. It’s the most animal Blaine’s seen him behave in a long time, but he chooses not to comment on it and instead meets Kurt at the bottom of the stairs. It takes longer than Blaine might’ve thought; Kurt’s just so much _bigger_ like this, even after the water has matted down his fur. It’s not a perfect solution, either, because Blaine doesn’t really have anything to properly wash him with, but it’s enough for tonight.

By the time they’ve finished, Blaine’s hands are stained red-brown.

He tries very hard not to think of Finn.

He scrubs his hands raw in the laundry room, cold and dry and nearly broken open. Kurt sits shivering next to him until he’s done, and it’s with exceedingly gentle hands that Blaine retrieves one of the last towels he’d set out for the night to help pat Kurt’s fur dry. Kurt’s still sort of damp and obviously still cold by the time the towel is dirty and soaked through, though, but at this point, Blaine figures the only option left until Kurt shifts back is to give him time. Blaine tosses the used towel into the hamper and kneels down in front of Kurt, chest aching a little at the sight of Kurt trembling, fur sticking up in awkward tufts.

His eyes are blue.

Wolf Kurt is still _Kurt_ , and some wounds never heal.

Blaine reaches out a hand, and with striking familiarity, Kurt moves closer, brushing against Blaine’s hand before nudging his nose against Blaine’s neck. Kurt licks a warm and reassuring stripe there, and again, Blaine remembers. He’s only ever seen Kurt fully shift like this twice before tonight -- that first night on the football field, the second in an empty parking garage. He remembers the latter more by touch than by sight, remembers the way Kurt had turned his back on retribution in favor of a second chance at protecting his mate. Now, there is no one left to protect but everyone left to carry, and this time it’s Kurt who needs the comfort. Exhaling softly, Blaine anchors a gentle hand on the back of Kurt’s head and barely notices the wet dog smell. Still, Blaine knows that there’s only so much he can do, and if Kurt’s not shifting back tonight, he’ll feel better in body if he’s closer to the others. “Come on,” Blaine urges quietly. “Let’s go get some sleep.”

Together, they rise.

With the last towel tucked under his arm, Blaine makes his way into the living room, Kurt at his side. They both pause at the threshold to survey the sleeping arrangements the rest of the pack has set up, an odd configuration of pairs. There’s the obvious and intentional -- Marley spread out long and lean in the large recliner, Jake tucked under her arm and curled in curiously close. Jake’s asleep but Marley isn’t, her eyes trained on the ceiling, and it’s with a pang of exhausted concern that Blaine notices how uncomfortable she looks. On the opposite end of the room is the loveseat, occupied by Mike and Santana. Santana’s as far removed from the rest of the pack as she can be, from the looks of it, her distance from Quinn notable and peculiar. She’s curled up facing the couch cushions, her back to the rest of the room, but her legs are intertwined with Mike’s. In the center and occupying most of the room is the sofa bed, and with a spared glance down at Kurt, Blaine notices that he seems just as perplexed by the fact that Quinn and Puck are sharing it. There’s something to be said for the fact that Quinn is curled away from Puck, though, as well as the fact that Puck is also awake, observing her in silence. He forces himself to look away once he notices that he’s being watched, and in an odd display of deference, he mirrors Marley.

Too tired to think about the confusing dynamics of the rest of the pack, Blaine moves to the rug spread out in front of the television and lays out the towel for Kurt. “Will you be comfortable here?” he asks, glancing over at Kurt as he straightens the edges and corners and smooths out the wrinkles. A nod, brief and perfunctory, and Kurt lowers himself onto the towel, chin nestled between his paws.

One look is all it takes for Blaine to know he’s sleeping down here tonight.

He would never deny Kurt this -- the opportunity to sleep curled up together, to be of comfort to one another -- but the impending reality of sleeping with Kurt like this makes Blaine nervous, hesitant. He’s never done this before. Touch with Kurt’s wolf form so far has been gentle, basic -- a hand here, a lick there. It’s not that he’s afraid of them unintentionally hurting each other, because he _trusts_ Kurt, and Blaine respects his body and space and ownership regardless of form. And he _knows_ that Kurt is still beneath this skin and fur, mind and heart and soul. It’s just -- Blaine isn’t sure if _he’ll_ feel different, lying next to the wolf.

He’s scared of not being himself.

Swallowing down his anxiety and hoping that Kurt doesn’t mention it later (because he _knows_ , Blaine’s sure he knows, can smell it all over him), Blaine retrieves one of the last throw pillows and settles down on the floor next to the wolf, unsure how to situate himself. He sets the pillow up next to Kurt’s head because that seems to be the easiest, most logical approach and curls up on his side, back to the pack. There’s barely half a moment’s hesitation before Kurt pushes himself to his feet, turning in a circle a few times before curling up against Blaine’s front, his head tucked securely against Blaine’s chest.

In the quiet, Blaine realizes that Kurt’s trying to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

In the dark, the light dies out.

* * * * *

In the morning, Kurt is the first to wake.

He distinctly remembers curling up next to Blaine last night, but they must have shifted and switched positions at some point during their sleep because Blaine is the little spoon now, tucked between Kurt’s front paws, head nestled against his pillow. He’s startlingly small to Kurt like this, sure and compact against Kurt’s bigger body and larger muscles and mussed fur. Blearily, Kurt blinks over at the large grandfather clock and notes the time, deciding it’s still early enough to leave Blaine be, for now.

None of them have slept all that much in the last week, understandably so, and even though Kurt is the only one shifted right now, he thinks he’d relish this even more if they all were, these quiet minds. Blaine seems to be at peace, relaxed in a way Kurt hasn’t sensed since the discovery of Finn’s passing. In his slumber, there are no traces of the lines of tension or undercurrents of anxiety Kurt’s been able to sense and smell lately. And Kurt remembers, then, what Blaine had confessed to him just before their first claiming, how much value he’d found in Kurt as a wolf.

_It’s the part of you that makes me feel safe and protected._

In a way, Kurt thinks this may be what they both needed to help them grieve -- Blaine to feel safe, and Kurt to feel like he’s still capable of protecting someone.

For a fleeting moment, Kurt doesn’t feel like he’s failed.

Careful not to move too much for fear of waking Blaine, Kurt glances around the living room to survey his still sleeping pack. Marley seems at least marginally more comfortable in her sleep than she had when he’d walked in last night. In contrast, Jake’s sleep seems fitful, his face lined, his grip too-tight. It’s… worrisome, to say the least, but at the end of the day, Jake is part of Marley’s pack, and Kurt can’t be responsible for him. He’s not entirely sure Marley can be, either, but that’s not his call to make.

Over on the loveseat, Mike is half-hanging off of the edge of the couch. His face is smushed against the cushions, his hands dangling in a paw-like fashion, his mouth wide open. It’s the most ungraceful Kurt has ever seen him, and it almost makes him want to smile, if he were human right now.

Almost.

Santana is still curled away from them all, seemingly smaller, her legs no longer tangled with Mike’s. Her breathing is shallow and quiet, and even though they’ve only been living together for three months, she doesn’t have to shift for Kurt to know that she’s dreaming.

Curious to see if both occupants are still on the sofa bed, Kurt lifts his head a little, straining to get a good look. He finds himself both startled and unsurprised by the sight that greets him -- legs tangled together, Puck’s arms wrapped around Quinn, her face tucked against his chest. Puck is awake, although just barely, and after a moment, Quinn follows suit, blinking up at him.

Hesitation lasts the space of a heartbeat, and then Quinn leans in and presses a soft kiss to Puck’s lips.

Kurt forces himself to look away, and one by one, the humanized wolves rejoin the living.

Slowly, they all stretch and rise in silence, no words exchanged among them. Kurt watches as Marley avoids Jake’s eyes, as Quinn pulls away from Puck’s touch, as Mike rolls onto the floor and takes too long in getting back up. Santana is the only one of them left sleeping, aside from Blaine. No one makes a move to wake her. And still, Kurt doesn’t have it in him to lead them, to send them off on their separate ways again. They’re going back out into the world without a limb -- weaker and lackluster. There’s no life in his bones, no energy in his muscles, and again, Kurt turns to Blaine to usher them out of the dark. He presses his nose against Blaine’s ear, knowing the wet sensation will startle Blaine awake. Blaine inhales sharply as he’s pulled into consciousness, brow knitting in confusion as he turns into Kurt and rubs at his eyes. “‘s wrong, baby?” he mumbles. Unable to articulate his request in words, Kurt licks at Blaine’s forehead in response, prompting Blaine to blink open his eyes and look at him properly. Recognition dawns in Blaine’s eyes almost immediately, his face relaxing a little, and it’s with gentle hands that he rubs a little at the scruff of Kurt’s neck. “Right,” Blaine sighs faintly, holding Kurt’s gaze for a moment before untangling himself from Kurt’s paws and sitting up to face the group.

The lone wolf left among them, Kurt follows his mate’s lead, barely mustering up enough strength to push himself into a sitting position. Blaine rises to his feet and stretches a little, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly as everyone else packs up their overnight bags in silence. Kurt’s whole body feels heavy just watching them, their impending departure weighing him down. He feels listless and useless in a way that he hates, and as much as he thinks his body needs them to stay, he thinks his heart needs them to leave.

He doesn’t need to hear their words or thoughts to know that they’ve lost their blind faith in him.

Quinn is the first to finish packing, the first to break the ties that bind them. She murmurs a quiet _thank you_ in Blaine’s direction before slipping into her shoes and heading out the front door, resolutely not meeting Puck’s eyes on her way out. The tension in the room thickens after she leaves, and Kurt feels the same muddled, confused anger from last night emanating from Puck now.

Mike is next to depart, but he leaves his warmth behind, hugging each of them in kind. He lingers with Kurt the longest, tall and lean and clean and so _much_ like Finn had felt. It takes everything in Kurt not to grab at Mike’s pant leg with his teeth and ask him to stay. Instead, he takes comfort in the fact that Puck seems equally agitated by Mike’s departure.

Those who remain seem hesitant to leave, although Kurt can smell how uncomfortable they all are in their silent grief around each other. When no one makes a move after a couple of moments, Blaine sighs and maneuvers around the edge of the sofa bed to the loveseat where Santana is still curled up asleep. Kurt sits up a little straighter, attentive. He’s woken Santana up enough times by now to know that there’s always a high risk of being accidentally smacked in the face. But it’s too late to warn Blaine, who is already reaching out a hand without a second thought to gently jostle Santana’s shoulder in an effort to prompt her awake. Santana wakes with a startled gasp and immediately turns to snap at him, eyes yellow and teeth bared, growl low in the back of her throat. Blaine yanks his hand away as though he’s been burned, jumping back a step, and Kurt’s on his feet and between them before he can even really give it much thought.

He doesn’t so much as growl or bark, and he doesn’t know what color his eyes are when Santana meets his level gaze.

She’s breathing _hard_ , her hands gripping the edge of the loveseat tightly, and Kurt remembers the way his hands shook in the daylight at the graveyard yesterday.

She needs to move.

Gently, Kurt nudges his head against her knee, granting his silent permission for her to leave. All of the air leaves her lungs at once at his touch, and she’s on her feet and reaching for her bag and shoes without so much as a glance or a word for the rest of them.

Her feet are bare as she walks out the door.

Santana’s barely contained rage seems to spur Puck’s silent seething into action. He’s all quick, sharp, deliberate movements as he slips his shoes on and throws his bag over his shoulder. There’s something… resentful in his eyes when he looks over at Kurt, and the door slamming behind him upon his exit echoes loudly in the quiet.

In Puck’s wake, Kurt sees Jake reach for Marley’s hand.

Not unkindly, Marley squeezes Jake’s hand in a clearly comforting gesture, but her solace ends there. “You should follow your brother,” Marley says, quiet and even. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything reckless.” And _oh_ , the memories that stirs up for Kurt -- the abusive behavior and getting Quinn drunk on wine coolers and the stint in juvie and the stupid prop knife from _West Side Story_ , god. Kurt knows Puck well enough to know that he lashes out when he’s feeling low, and with Quinn’s cold shoulder and Santana’s simmering rage, Kurt thinks Marley’s concern isn’t all that unwarranted.

Jake seems… bothered by the request, though Kurt’s not sure why. He knows that the Puckerman brothers have definitely gotten closer since the holidays, knows that Jake sometimes seeks out Puck’s advice. With the loss of Finn -- of a limb, a _brother_ \-- Kurt thinks that Puck could really _use_ Jake’s presence right now. And at the end of the day, Kurt can really only look out for one of them as an alpha. Jake is not his responsibility, but he still looks to Kurt for guidance, deferring to Kurt’s leadership over Marley’s. It’s the only time Kurt’s felt comfortable enough to take it from her, but it feels more like offering his support. He nods once, and still Jake doesn’t move, hesitation evident in his eyes. Too frustrated and heavy to care about tact and appearances, Kurt pads over to him and bumps his forehead against Jake’s knee with a quiet whine -- _please_. That gets Jake to reach for his bag, although it looks like it pains him to do so.

Jake leans in to press a parting kiss to Marley’s lips, and for the first time since August, Kurt sees the same anxiety in Marley’s eyes as she watches Jake go.

The red fades from her eyes.

Kurt can tell how uncomfortable she is, and watches again as she defers to him for guidance. She directs her words at Blaine, but she only has eyes for Kurt. “Do you want me to stay?” she offers. “I can help clean up, do laundry, make something to eat.”

“I can handle it,” Blaine assures her, sounding tired. “Thank you, though.”

Marley doesn’t seem all that thrilled that she’s essentially being dismissed from duty, but she does seem to take it in stride, shoulders squared and breath even. Her fingertips brush against Blaine’s hand as she moves past him, but she doesn’t reach for her bag, instead choosing to kneel down in front of Kurt.

For the first time, Kurt thinks he sees her as a proper equal.

She’s careful as she reaches for him, slow and hesitant and clearly not wanting to cross any boundaries. With strong, gentle hands, Marley takes Kurt’s head in her hands, her fingers grabbing hold of his fur. Transfixed, his breath gets caught in his lungs, and he meets her eyes with his own, blue tinged with traces of red. She’s quiet for a very long moment before she speaks, and her words cut through the air like a beacon in a fog. “Finn believed in me when no one else did,” she confesses, breath growing shallow, “but you believed in me _first_.”

Kurt digs his nails into the carpet below his paws and forgets how to breathe.

He has _nothing_ left to give.

Marley lets him go.

With all he has left, Kurt watches the fur fade from his skin and waits for Blaine at the bottom of a staircase.

* * * * *

Blaine closes the door on one alpha and turns to face another -- his own.

Kurt has _finally_ shifted back into human form, dirt still streaked on his naked body, hair unkempt. He’s holding onto the top of the rounded handrail at the bottom of the staircase, legs trembling in an effort to stay standing. Blaine moves to him in the light, hands hovering in case Kurt falls. “Here,” he says gently, “let me help you.”

Kurt reaches out for him with shaking hands, his grip too-tight and his weight heavier than usual. “I can’t -- I can’t do that again,” Kurt gasps, clearly struggling to breathe. “I don’t think I can shift again.”

“It’s okay,” Blaine soothes, wrapping an arm around Kurt’s middle to help keep him upright. “You don’t have to.” And the thing is, Blaine _knows_ what Kurt means by it, that this isn’t just hardship brought on by shifting outside of a full moon.

This is grief that’s settled in Kurt’s bones, and Finn will never run with wolves again.

Up the stairs they go, one by one with Blaine supporting Kurt’s weight until they reach the threshold and manage to stumble into one of the bathrooms upstairs. Blaine helps Kurt settle down on top of the toilet, giving him a few minutes to catch his breath and try and collect enough strength to stand for a shower. Blaine busies himself for those few moments, running water and gathering towels and robes and stripping himself bare. When the water is warm enough, he turns his attention back to Kurt and holds out a hand in offering. He’s startled when Kurt doesn’t take it, instead resting his forehead against Blaine’s abdomen.

Kurt presses a kiss to the tattoo inked on Blaine’s left hip, and Blaine feels the shadows _burn_.

Fingers intertwined, together, they climb into the shower. Kurt still seems uneasy on his feet, but he manages to stand without assistance and doesn’t protest when Blaine takes up the task of washing him clean. In some places, it takes several applications of soap to remove the dirt caked onto Kurt’s skin, the suds circling the drain in hues of reds and browns. It’s not until the water has washed the last of the dirt away that Kurt has any response at all. Without words, Kurt lifts up a still slightly shaking hand and stares at it in silence before barking out a strangled sound. “Kurt?” Blaine ventures carefully. Kurt gasps for air and stumbles back against the wall, sliding quickly to the floor of the bathtub and breaking out into a sob.

The tears are indistinguishable from the water that falls upon them, and Kurt’s anguish brings Blaine to his knees.

Submission has never felt like this before.

“I feel like I failed him,” Kurt chokes out, clearly struggling to breathe.

That just makes Blaine cry harder, because _oh_ how he identifies with that. He’s spent so much of his life feeling like he falls short of meeting expectations. It’s happened with his parents, with Cooper, with the Warblers and New Directions alike. It happened with Kurt, last fall, and it had almost happened with Finn, shortly after. The words are sharp and clear in his mind, the memory too close for comfort. _You belong here, with us_ , Finn had insisted. It was Finn, more than anyone else left at McKinley at the time, who had understood what it meant for Blaine to lose an anchor in his alpha.

Finn had been there for him when Blaine had failed himself.

“Breathe, baby,” Blaine gasps, hardly able to do so himself. “Just -- focus on me, okay?” he says, voice thick and vision blurred. Blindly, he reaches for Kurt’s hand without finesse and pulls it to his chest, an anchor over his erratic heartbeat. “Tell me -- tell me why. Why do you feel like you failed him?”

“He -- he spent so _long_ protecting me,” Kurt breathes. “I never got to return the favor.” Breath shallow but much more even, Kurt doesn’t bother brushing the tears from his eyes as he drops his gaze. He moves his free hand down to touch Blaine’s tattoo again, instead, the touch of fingertips like a ghost on Blaine’s skin. “When I left McKinley, you said that I served as an example -- that we didn’t have to be slaves to the moon.” A painful sounding breath, and Kurt lifts his gaze to meet Blaine’s eyes again. “I don’t -- I don’t feel like I did that. When I met Marley last fall, she was so _scared_. And I -- I _tried_ to help her through that, but I didn’t. Finn did. Finn was the one who made a mark, not me.”

With a soft exhale, Blaine reaches out to brush the wet hair sticking to Kurt’s forehead away from his eyes.

In the dark, the blue is light.

“Kurt, what you did,” Blaine begins, struggling to keep his voice even, “was give Finn a safe space to grow into his skin while you took the time to get comfortable enough doing the same. He may not have been an alpha, Kurt, but Finn was a _leader_. He lead us both home. He took the safe space you left him and kept it until Marley felt like she could do the same and protect her own. That’s what you did last night by shifting, Kurt. You gave them a safe space.”

Kurt’s face falls, his shoulders weighed down, and he withdraws his limbs from Blaine’s touch, knees pulled up against his chest and arms wrapped around his middle. “Then why do I feel like last night just made everything _worse_?”

Crestfallen, Blaine maneuvers his way around Kurt’s legs to wiggle in next to him, tucking himself under Kurt’s arm and against his side. “Because,” he says, the truth feeling like poison on his tongue, “you can’t make this _better_.”

* * * * *


End file.
